


persist

by nisakomi



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6818881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisakomi/pseuds/nisakomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>as a child, junhui had always been told that one day he'd meet the right person for him.</p><p>there was never any indication whether or not that right person would be a boy like yao ming ming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	persist

**Author's Note:**

> 藕断丝连
> 
>   
>  for the tan dynasty; a quickie   
> 

If given the chance to meet up with ~~the person you’ve been in love with for a quarter of your life because after he stole your heart he never gave it back~~     ~~the only member that’s ever made you want to get up in the morning just so you could see their face~~     ~~the boy you once thought you knew inside and out but who grew into a man that was a complete stranger~~ _the guy none of you have had contact with in nearly two years_ , do you tell your groupmates about it?

If anyone asks, Junhui doesn’t have the time. It’s impromptu, a cursory check of Weibo, quick glance through WeChat, standard, routine, every night (morning) between practice and bed. Like clockwork, mark unread, unread, unread, and then—

A breath in.

It’s been a long ass fucking time since ‘doubleM’ has been in his list of chats, even longer since there was a red notification icon beside his icon. Junhui doesn’t even recognize the picture, clear cut and close up. He doesn’t remember keeping him in his contacts. When his brain catches up with his heart he feels a brief flare of anger, its tendrils wrap around his thumb and guide it into a leftward swipe over the screen, tempting him to tapping the red delete button.

He opens the message.

It’s six words of Chinese, brief and, well, brief. ‘ _In Seoul. Do you have time_?’ 

Junhui has never hated technology before this moment. It’s always been a help rather than a hindrance, letting him call his mom, send messages to the dwindling number of friends from China he still keeps in touch with, play games, watch music videos. Having a phone? Nice. Wireless internet? Super nice. Not being able to see Mingming’s face to contextualize why he’s asking if Junhui’s busy? Not nice. Not nice at all. He doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know how he’s supposed to take it. What the hell could Mingming want with him now anyway? 

He looks to the left of him where Soonyoung’s already sleeping with his mouth open and one arm above his head, and pulls up the covers to fit under Soonyoung’s chin. The soft snore that escapes Soonyoung’s mouth sends air that lightly tickles Junhui's fingers.

“He’s gonna move again in like, two seconds,” Wonwoo mutters over the top of his phone screen.

Junhui shrugs, already very much aware of this fact. Just because it’s a little futile, doesn’t mean a good deed shouldn’t be done when the moment presents itself. 

He goes back to considering the absolutely awful idea he’s entertaining in his head. If he leaves early enough in the morning, close to the dorms, he can do something as simple as coffee without it being a big deal. Nah, it’d be a pretty big deal. If Soonyoung were awake, he’d toy with the idea of asking him for advice. But Soonyoung isn’t awake, so the options are 1. do something stupid that he’ll regret or 2. do something smart that he’ll also regret.

He texts back yes, a time when no human being should be awake, the address of a 24-hour café around the corner, and turns off his phone before he can think about it much more. It’s only then that he really breathes back out.

*

Mingming’s already there when he enters, but Junhui deliberately avoids eye contact and pretends he doesn’t see the only person in the shop, with his dark navy blue jeans, cream turtleneck, and black facemask, sitting by himself at a corner table with both hands around a hot drink. Junhui wonders if it’s the same facemask Mingming’s had all this time or if it’s a new one, if anyone’s bought him one as a gift since, does he still get fan presents, how’s his older brother doing, how are his parents, what’s it like in Shanghai right now, is it hot like Feng Jun complains about Shenzhen. Those questions come to him like a flood, and he hasn’t even looked directly at Mingming’s eyes yet. If he’s not careful with the people around him, Junhui’s going to end up drowning himself. 

He orders from the sleepy part-timer, and then figures he better bring something back for Jihoon in case he runs into him returning from the recording studio and needs to bribe him into silence. After paying with his card and picking up his drinks, he can pretend no longer.

“Yo,” he says, high-pitched and downright _cutesy_ sounding. It’s so inappropriate for the occasion, but it’s not like he’s had any mental preparation for this. Junhui does self pep talks and blanking out, not prepared speeches. He’s used to know what to say, to having a way with words, phrases readily presenting themselves to him at any given point in time. Coming to Korea and not having the means to say exactly what he wanted to say all the time was weird, but he’s gotten better at it, he can communicate freely.

But right now, Yao Mingming stares up at Wen Junhui, pulls his facemask down to his chin and _grins_ at him, and Junhui’s tongue starts lolling around in his mouth, thick and heavy with nothing to say, which already says too much about him.

“Yo,” Mingming parrots back, and he stifles his ten thousand megawatt smile into a subdued look of (Junhui doesn’t dare hope it’s) fondness, and maybe, just maybe, the approximately thirty-six elephants filling up the room don’t have to trumpet their presence after all. “Four thirty in the morning...wow...you’re really working hard,” Mingming jokes. His teeth are so white and shiny, his eyes so well defined, and the ache that’s dissipated from Junhui’s heart returns full force.

Junhui takes a long drink from his coffee, he’s gonna need it with the three hours of sleep, or he’ll pass out on Jisoo’s shoulder in the car, that’s not downright terrible, oh right, he’s supposed to be formulating a reply. Is saying promotion cycle an excuse? Probably, considering he said he was free.

“You’re getting results though. I saw your music show win, congrats, you jerk,” Mingming says easily, leaning back in his seat with that soft smile still on his face. The mandarin breaks into Junhui’s thoughts in a startling way, like even though they have years and miles and gulfs of unspoken words between them, they’re still thinking on the same wavelength. It cuts through him like the way Junhui’s giggles cut through the relative silence of the café. Mingming’s not the funniest person Junhui knows, not even close, but Mingming’s comedic timing has always synchronized well with Junhui’s.

“We’re super rookies, haven’t you heard?” Junhui flashes a peace sign and neither of them discuss the fact that the word ‘we’ once meant both of them, not just one of them.

“It’s good. The song’s good. The choreo too, maybe if the company lets me I’ll do a cover of it and put it up on MeiPai.” Mingming’s grin is just so goddamn cheeky, and Junhui’s instinctive reaction is to reach an arm out and deck him across the head for it. He only gets partway before Mingming grabs his fist with one hand and twists his elbow until Junhui’s screaming bloody murder in a coffee shop, before sunrise, and wondering if this is all just a dream.

“Remember when we used to do this in the practice rooms,” Mingming says without letting go, and Junhui’s face contorts further, inhaling sharply through his teeth, “and Jisoo-hyung would just sit beside us watching music videos completely unconcerned?”

Junhui bites at Mingming’s hand, yanking away while he’s distracted, and rubs his shoulders with a pout on his face. “You’re crazy.”

“Did you forget it?”

“No.” After a beat, Junhui says, “I missed it.”

The smile freezes on Mingming’s face and dies a slow death. “You know, I wanted to say this in person. I'm sorry for all the shit I put you through.”

There’s so much water and not nearly enough bridge. But Junhui doesn’t want to cross the river anymore, he just wants to be on the same side as Mingming. “I’m not. You’re happy now, so it’s fine. I just wish we could see each other more. Hang out. Talk.”

Mingming leans forward, resting his elbows on the small round table, and smiles knowingly. “Is that all?”

Junhui swallows. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, overly defensive.

“I’m in Korea for the foreseeable future. I wouldn’t mind…talking.” He sips his drink slowly, something disgustingly sugary or unbearably bitter probably, Mingming never was one to do things halfway. Rather than placing it his ceramic cup back onto the saucer immediately, me drags it around the perimeter of the table first, and Junhui follows the handle with his eyes, entranced by Mingming’s movements, as always.

“For work?” What are they going to talk about? The weather? What songs are popular on the charts? The past? How do you converse with someone who used to have shared life experiences with you but now you have nothing in common?

“Yeah. I know you’re busy right now too but even an hour or two, just like this, it would be nice.”

“I guess I can squeeze out some time for you so I can beat your ass for running away.”

“My ass is ready. It’s a date then.” Mingming bats his eyelashes.

It’s such a Mingming thing to say and do. Junhui balls up a napkin and tosses it at his head.

*

The next time the rest of Seventeen sees Mingming again is at a music show, but Mingming only has eyes for Junhui.

“Better luck next time.” Junhui bows at Mingming’s groupmates and flashes a peace sign.

“It’s only because you got a head start,” Mingming says, giving Junhui’s ass a slap.

“Chase me.”

“You won’t even see me coming.”


End file.
